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“BDSM.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “It can be, but that’s not all of it.”
“So, you tie people up and whip them?”
“No!” I shake my head rapidly. “Not at all. I don’t do pain. I don’t give it, and I don’t like receiving it.”
“Oh.”
I’m reminded of Casey’s disparaging remarks about “vanilla people” and how they always jump to the wrong conclusions about the kink lifestyle. It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t just shut my mouth and let Kas focus on the water below her. The fear alone should keep her distracted enough, but that just sounds mean.
I don’t want her to be afraid. People usually fear the unknown, and telling her all about rope could spark more curiosity than fear. If that could get her mind off being afraid, it would be a distraction I could live with.
“I swear, Kas, you have nothing to worry about. I only use rope on people who want it and always in a safe way. I’ve never hurt anyone.”
I’m not sure if she looks relieved or not, but she does appear slightly calmer. The storm outside rages on with rain pounding on the roof of the library and flood waters sloshing around books below, causing her to startle again. I decide rope talk is the way to go. By keeping her focus on the topic at hand—something she might find curious but not frightening if I can explain it well—she won’t be as scared of the water.
It might help me as well because the logical part of my head knows this storm is far from over, and we are in legitimate danger. I’m starting to think we’re going to need a helicopter to get us out of the area, and I wonder how long it might be before someone even realizes we’re stuck here.
We might very well be here all night or even well into the next day. I’m not sure what we’ll do if the water rises high enough to flood the second story of the old chapel or how we might get from where we are to the roof if it does.
And Kas can’t swim. If the water rises too high, will I be able to support a person who is obviously afraid of the water without drowning myself? The very idea of not being able to hold her above water is more terrifying than the electrified water.
Going into a deep discussion about kink with a vanilla chick from my high school might be the best thing to keep both our minds off our current predicament.
I take another deep breath and try to remember some of the words said to me when I first started looking into alternative lifestyles and hobbies.
“There are a lot of kinks,” I say. “Some people do like to give or receive pain, but that’s far from the majority of people who like a little spice in their sex lives. Some people just like to be blindfolded to get that added bit of adrenaline rushing through their systems. Others like to pretend they’re someone else—either someone with power or someone without. Some people like the idea of their partner doing anything and everything they ask them to do. Others like being told what to do, how, and when. Some people like to be chained to a pole and whipped. There are lots of different kinks, and no one likes all of them.”
Kas stares at me with her mouth slightly open.
I might have said too much.
At least her breathing has slowed; she isn’t pressed up against the rails, and she doesn’t appear to be as freaked out as she had been a couple of minutes ago. That’s a plus, but now we’re just sitting here staring at each other, and I’m not sure what else to say.
“Rope is a specific subset of kink that I happen to enjoy.” I shrug and look away from her, trying to reel in my own embarrassment. I have nothing to feel embarrassed about, but I don’t often have to explain such things to those who aren’t already somewhat aware of the larger world out there, and she clearly qualifies as a newbie.
“Why?”
I glance back at her face to find genuine curiosity, not abhorrence.
“Lot’s of reasons.” I lean back against the pillar and lace my fingers around my knee. “One, I really do just like the feel of jute in my hands.”
“What’s jute?”
“Jute is the material used to make the rope I use,” I tell her. “Would you like to feel it?”
“Feel it?”
“Yeah.” Slowly, I reac
h into my backpack and grab the first rope my fingers touch. It’s not one I used to pull her up, so it’s still in a neat coil with a loop around the center to keep it together. I toss it to the floor right in front of her. “Touch it.”
Tentatively, she reaches out and runs her fingers over the edge of the rope before picking it up.
“It’s not soft,” she says.
“No, it isn’t.” I sit up a bit and lean toward her. “Jute is a rough fiber made from plants. It’s similar to hemp, which can also be used. Some people use nylon rope or even rope made from coconuts.”
“Coconut rope?”
